Blood Of Life
by secretfanficlover
Summary: "The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenceless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."


Word Count: 1067

Title: Blood Of Life

Beta: White Eyebrow, whitetiger91

Warnings: Violence, blood, gore.

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Golden Snitch

[Name] Crissie

[School] Uagadou

[House] Ogyinae

Ollivanders: Unicorn hair: Write about a character's encounter with a unicorn.

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Hogwarts

Assignment 3: Care of Magical Creatures- Task three: Write about an attack

Yearly: Prompt 173 [Theme] Darkness

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The House Cup

House: Gryffindor

Class: Charms

Category: Standard

Prompt: [Creature] Unicorn

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"You'd better decide where your loyalties lie; I'll be watching you, Quirrell," Severus said, pushing him up against the wall. Then he turned to leave.

Quirrell adjusted his turban carefully, looking at his pale face in the mirror.

"He wouldn't understand; I'm never alone," Quirrell muttered.

The hissing voice inside his head replied, "We must get the stone. I will not tolerate disappointment, Quirrell."

"I know, master," Quirrell replied, stuttering.

"Let's go, I need to _feed_," the voice insisted.

The Forbidden Forest was dark, and the full moon overhead was the only light that kept the darkness from causing them to disappear. The sky was clear, and the night was cool on the exposed face of Professor Quirrell.

Quirrell had his wand out, and he whispered a soft, "_Lumos_," when they reached the edge of the trees.

Even his thoughts weren't his own anymore. _He_ knew everything.

Voldemort was reduced to nothing more than a parasite, living off another to survive. He hated that he needed to depend on his followers for survival. The child was partially to blame, but all his Horcruxes had managed to keep him alive. Quirrell was expendable, and as soon as he had the stone, he wouldn't be opposed to leaving the man to die, in the event the need arose.

Quirrell had his uses, of course. He had found out where the Philosopher's Stone was hidden. They had also managed to break into vault number 713 at Gringotts— only to find it had been emptied by that oaf of a groundskeeper earlier the same day. Voldemort had punished Quirrell severely for being late breaking into the vault that held the stone that could bring him back to power.

When they'd heard whispers of it being kept in Hogwarts, they'd cursed the previous Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, giving them the perfect cover to scope where the stone was hidden. They knew it would take some time to find; the castle was large and enemies were everywhere. There was always a chance that Headmaster Dumbledore would see through the clever ruse.

Yet, Voldemort's soul still needed to survive until they got the stone. He had nothing left to lose, and everything to gain. This was how it led to this. He knew unicorn blood could sustain him until they reached the stone.

Quirrell was looking for a target: the first unicorn he spotted. It was young, and perfect for the first feed. Quirrell walked right up to the beast; it was kicking its hooves in warning on the ground, kicking up dust, feeling uneasy at the darkness surrounding it. Before it could run, Quirrell overpowered it and slit its throat with his wand, letting the bleeding creature fall to the ground.

Quirrell removed the long purple turban that normally remained wrapped around his head. The back of his head was host to the most evil wizard ever known: Voldemort himself. He unwrapped the turban slowly, shivering in the cold night air as he exposed the back of his head.

Quirrell felt the darkness leave him, more spirit than human, and sink his teeth into the bleeding creature before him. Quirrell shuddered at the sight of his master gulping down the silver essence, and he watched as the unicorn's eyes went blank. It was hard watching the untainted creature meet its death with grace. However, it was not enough for his master, and they moved on in search of another victim.

Voldemort was stronger now; he had the strength to attack the unicorn they'd soon found himself, biting into it with his fang-like teeth. It took off, injured, but they followed the trail of silver blood through the forest to reach their target. The silver trail was growing colder every second the night air touched the fresh blood, staining the earth.

He leaned over to slurp up the blood messily, when some noise alerted them to the presence of someone…

Voldemort, in his half-crazed state, went out to attack Harry, only just aware of what was going on around him. He went after Harry, unicorn blood growing cold as he focused on attacking a mere child. He was overcome with rage as he went after Harry, causing the boy to stumble over a tree stump, tripping him onto his back. He advanced on him; as fast as a black bolt of lightning, he pinned Harry to the ground in fear.

With his sole focus being the boy who thwarted him, the hooves of the centaur came out of nowhere. The hooves kicked at his face, forcing them to retreat into a darker, abandoned part of the forest.

He wasn't sated; he was interrupted in feeding. Yet there was nothing to be done for the night. The idiot gamekeeper had decided to bring children into the forest that night. Not that Voldemort cared much for casualties, but Quirrell argued that they need not take the risk blowing their cover. It was apparent to Quirrell that the centaur Firenze knew exactly what was going on in the forest, as much as his master dismissed a centaur for being a lesser being.

At least his identity was still protected; after the first night, he could remove his turban at the edge of the forest, then put his hood on backwards, so that Voldemort was the one hunting for the defenceless unicorns. Nobody would suspect _him_; he was the Defense of The Dark Arts Professor, after all.

It felt strange to submit to his master so fully that Voldemort would move their body, and take full control. It was like taking a back seat with regards to being in control of his own body and movements.

Everyone knew that death was a part of life, and that was the circle. One should meet death without fear, for many things are worse than death. Slavery, for one, was worse to Quirrell than being allowed to die in peace. However, for The Dark Lord, it was all about staying alive, no matter the cost. The ultimate goal was immortality and power.

In the end, they were both eager to find the stone. Quirrell knew his master was only dependent on him out of necessity, and he longed to have his master's return to power, albeit to his own detriment. He still had some presence of mind remaining, and a life bound in slavery, was no life at all.


End file.
